creepypastafandomcom-20200222-history
It's Safe Now
When Captain Roberts first awoke, he was immediately greeted by the thick, acrid odor of smoke. He remembered very little of his current situation, much less where he was or how he had gotten there. We were flying over Arizona, he thought to himself, we ran into some turbulence. Could we have... did we crash? Roberts tried to sit up, only to be met with a dizzying sensation in his head. It pulsed and pounded with a pain unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He reached up to feel his forehead; when he pulled his hand back, it was sticky with blood. We... crashed? I don't... I would've remembered... Roberts looked to his right, where his copilot was seated next to him. The copilot's neck had been thrown back violently, the bone nearly jutting out where his Adam's Apple should've been. He could feel the bile building in his throat as his mind raced with solutions, concocting desperate escape plans as he tried to remember the steps for crash recovery. "Check for survivors," he murmured to himself as he fumbled with his seat's restraints, "ensure the safety of any surviving crew members. Then, figure out your location and call for help. It's... It's gonna be ok." Clicking his seatbelt open, Roberts staggered to his feet, bracing himself against the wrecked console as he struggled to maintain balance. Weakly, he limped out of the cockpit, sliding the door open as he entered the body of the plane. No amount of training could've prepared him for the scene that had awaited him: bodies were tossed and piled about like ragdolls, limbs had been completely separated from bodies... it looked like a massacre. But there had to have been survivors amid the wreckage. There had to have been. As if on command, a passenger in the first row slowly began to stir. He looked up at Roberts in weary confusion. "Captain...?" he asked shakily. "What happened?" "Can you walk?" Roberts asked in response. "You... are you well enough to walk, Mr...?" "Samson. And yes, I..." Samson stammered as he gathered his thoughts, "I suppose I am." "I need your help then. We made a crash landing, and I need your help to sweep the plane for survivors. Are you able to do that?" "I can do that," he affirmed as he slowly stood from his seat, "I can do that no problem." Samson began shuffling side by side with Roberts, the two of them moving down the aisles, jostling and attempting to stir anybody who looked like they had survived the crash in one piece. It wasn't as hopeless as it had initially seemed: they discovered a mother and her young daughter, bruised yet ultimately unharmed. A businessman in the middlemost section of the plane survived, albeit with a broken leg as a result. As they combed the aisles, Roberts and his companion slowly began to build up more of a survivor base. When the entirety of the plane was accounted for, the confirmed survivors were as follows: Captain Roberts, Samson, Jenny Tompkins, her daughter Lizzie Tompkins, the businessman Roman Esquire, an off duty serviceman named Alec Watt, and Tim Anderson, the sole survivor of a group of adolescent triplets on board. Roberts had completed his first task: identify and gather survivors. Now, he just had to figure out where they had landed. He pushed his way into an unoccupied row, sliding up the window's cover to at least get a glimpse of where they were: he could see a long, flat plain of desert land, and that was all. "Alright, let's think," he rationalized to himself, "we were over Arizona when the turbulence kicked in-" "So we're still in Arizona, right?" Jenny Tompkins frantically butted into Roberts' musings. "We crashed, but we're still where we're supposed to be, right?!" "I..." he responded, "I can't say for sure. From what we can see, it looks like nothing but open desert." "But you're only looking out one window!" Roman Esquire joined in. "Why not, oh, I don't know, actually go outside and check a bit more?!" "Look, as long as the plane is in one piece, staying in here is our safest option until I can figure out our exact position. An open desert isn't the most easily identifiable place in the world, and if anybody were to wander off they could easily get separated from an eventual rescue party." The group quieted down; sensing the air of agreement, Roberts moved back towards the cockpit to attempt to salvage the console and radio in. He had barely put his hand on the door when he heard something odd; he could tell by the way everyone suddenly perked to attention that they heard it too. Three heavy knocks on the airplane's outer door, followed by a muffled voice: KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK "It's safe now." Roberts turned towards the hatch. "Who's out there?" KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK "It's safe now." Roberts turned towards the survivors, a look of confusion slowly dawning on his face. "I'll ask once more," he shouted, not breaking eye contact with the passengers, "who's out there? Who are you and how do you know it's safe?" KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK "It's safe now." "Oh for Christ's sake," Roman exclaimed, "the bastard probably can't hear you through that bulkhead of a door!" "Then how come we can hear him?" The party grew silent once more. Lizzie Tompkins, the daughter, pressed her face up against another open window, craning her neck to the right. "Mommy," she whispered, "there's nobody at the door." Everybody turned to face each other, their eyes widening in mutual confusion and dawning dread. Finally, young Tim Anderson broke the silence by asking what was on everyone's mind: "Is anyone gonna go check?" "I'll go," offered Alec Watt. "I'm equipped to handle myself no matter what. Whatever... whoever is out there, I can go out and make contact." "'Whatever?' All of you have more than a few screws loose," Roman countered, "I mean, this guy is here to help, and you're all in the corner crying about it! I'll go, since evidently nobody else feels like getting rescued today." "No," Roberts answered coolly. "I'm going. As captain, you're all my responsibility. If something... if what's out there isn't what it seems... it's my responsibility to take that risk, not any of you. I'll report back as soon as I find out who's been giving us that signal over and over. Until then, nobody else go outside." Roberts moved towards the plane's door, slowly swung it open, and stepped out into the hot desert sands. Everybody sat in the open seats, as close together as they could possibly be, none of them moving an inch. Samson and Roman stared straight ahead, blank, fearful expressions on their faces. Lizzie Tompkins cried softly into her mother's shoulder; Jenny slowly and carefully caressed her daughter, careful not to make too much movement. Alec Watt tried watching something on his phone, his lip trembling as his hand shuddered in front of him. Tim Anderson lay at Alec's feet in a fetal position, shaking every so often. It had been an hour, and none of them dared make any sudden movements. They all stared in front of them, making careful, strenuous efforts not to look out their windows. If they did, they would see Roberts. Roberts had gone out to investigate the disturbance an hour ago, and he still stood in full view of the plane's left side windows. His skin lay in strips at his feet, piled high like kindling. His arms stayed stiff at his sides, as if he still had control over his muscles. His bloodshot eyes pierced holes through the plane walls, as if he were taking an extended look at the people he had sworn to protect, the people who didn't even notice what had happened until it was too late. Lizzie began to cry harder, and tears began to fall from Jenny's eyes as well. They remained still, as still as statues, as whoever... whatever was outside made its rounds once more. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK "It's safe now." Category:Parlour Category:Vehicles Category:Beings Category:Dismemberment